To Find a Way
by Kitarin
Summary: personal first LotR fic, Frodo's decision to take the ring to Mordor


  
  
To Find A Way   
  
_for Andrea ... (even though she hasn't seen the movie yet!) ... for always being my light, even on the darkest days.   
  
You walk along a road  
Oh how far you are from home  
  
Mornie utulie   
Believe and you  
Will find your way  
  
Mornie alantie   
A promise lives  
Within you now  
  
  
  
  
"I will take the ring to Mordor...though I do not know the way..."  
  
_   
Frodo Baggins stood at the railing of the balcony connected to his room, watching as twilight enveloped the waterfalls and vines of the elven haven called Rivendell. Tiny leaves fluttered down beside his feet as the golden eaves faded to reflect the silver of the moon now rising just above the walls of the valley. The world was slowly falling to sleep as winter approached, and he idly wished he could fall into gentle slumber with it.   
Recent events turned over and over in his mind, and he took a shaky breath, his knuckles glowing white as he tightened his hands around the rail. What possessed me to say I would take the ring to Mordor? I am but a hobbit...neither brave nor strong, and without any special power to aid me...I wonder if I am resigning myself to death...I wonder if I will succumb to its powers as poor Gollum did...and Bilbo...my dear Bilbo... Frodo sighed, taking another breath to try and force back the choked up feeling rising in his throat. I am endangering all of my friensd, as well.   
"Mr. Frodo...?" a voice whispered behind him and he bit his lip, not replying. "Mr. Frodo, sir, are you feeling badly?"   
"I am all right, Sam..." he answered softly, turning to face his long time friend.   
"You aren't looking so well," Sam said in concern, stepping out onto the balcony. "Why not come inside and have a nice mug of ale before bed?"   
Frodo considered the suggestion for a moment and then nodded silently, following the other hobbit back into his room. Tomorrow morning they would be departing, and the events of the council and the journey ahead played upon him like they had not before. His hand reached unconsciously to fiddle with the ring, still heavy on its chain round his neck.   
"I wish I could ease your troubles, Mr. Frodo," Sam said as they sat down opposite each other at the little wooden table. He poured the fragrant ale into two pewter mugs and carefully handed one across the table, watching as Frodo set it down without taking a sip and stared off into the distance. Sam took a sip, his eyes never leaving his master's face, and then finally set the mug down with a clunk. "You're really worrying me, Master."   
"Oh, my dear Sam," Frodo murmured, his clear blue eyes finally focusing on his friend's kind face. "I'm terrible sorry."   
"I can't think what you're apologizing for, unless it's letting that nice mug of ale I poured for you go to waste," he replied cheerfully.   
"I'm sorry we're not going home."   
Sam frowned slightly, taking another sip of his ale before replying. "Meaning no offense, Mr. Frodo, sir, but may I ask a question?"   
"Of course, Sam."   
"Why did you say you'd do it? I mean, not that it isn't a very nice thing to do and all, but I know how much you was wanting to go home..."   
"I don't know..." Frodo rose from the table and paced over to where the pristine white walls opened onto the landscape. "They were all fighting about it, the elves and dwarves and men, even Gandalf, and the ring caught in my sight. It seemed to shine with fire for a moment and then I knew that there was no other way. I had to do it."   
"Are you scared, Mr. Frodo?" Sam did not get up from the table, but watched carefully as his master crossed the room to sit down on the edge of the bed, his shoulders hunching forward to betray his weariness.   
"Yes, Sam, I am scared."   
There was silence for a moment as each contemplated that thought, and then finally Sam set his mug down and rose from the table, crossing the room to kneel at the side of the silken covered bed at Frodo's feet, reaching to take one of his master's soft and slender hands between his own two earth-roughened ones. "I won't leave you, Mr. Frodo, not ever. No matter where we go and what happens, I'll stay by your side. I promised Gandalf, and I promise you."   
"That's a lot to promise, Samwise," he said, looking down with a small smile.   
"It's not enough," Sam countered with a frown, getting to his feet as Frodo tugged his hand gently. He sat down beside him on the bed, crossing his arms over his chest in frustration. "But it's all I can do."   
Frodo reached this time to take Sam's hand into his own. "You have always been by my side, my dear hobbit," he said softly. "From the first day Bilbo brought me back to Bag End and you were but a tiny thing, you have been my shadow...and my friend."   
Sam nodded solemnly. "You've always been good to me, Mr. Frodo, so this is the least I can do to repay you."   
Frodo did not say anything else, and after a few more moments of silence, rose to his feet again and wandered over to the table, picking up his mug of ale. "I have no talent, Sam, nothing special. I know little of swords or magic. I've no kingdom to unite or true love to come back to...and hobbits are not very fit for adventures, are they?"   
Sam moved to pull out his master's nightshirt and turn down the bed, hoping to subtly convince him to get a good night's sleep before their journey began. "Well, I don't really know, Mr. Frodo. Mr. Bilbo had himself quite an adventure, didn't he? But hobbits like me, we're better off as farmers and such. Though I do admit that seeing the mountains and meeting the elves, now that was a real treat I reckon, not much like most hobbits ever see or do. Elves, such pretty faces, aren't they, Mr. Frodo?"   
Frodo laughed softly, setting down his mug after finally taking a sip. "They are certainly unique, dear Sam," he replied, slipping his vest off and starting to unbutton his shirt.   
"This place," Sam continued on, hardly aware of Frodo's reply, as he moved to clean up their mugs and set out the things needed for the next morning, "It's like something out of a dream."   
"It is a dream," Frodo said softly, climbing into the large bed with a sigh. "A dream that is quickly fading as this age passes by."   
"Very profound," Sam said solemnly, moving to the door. "Well, you sleep well, Mr. Frodo, and I'll see you in the morning." He moved to open the door and was stopped by Frodo's voice.   
"Sam, wait."   
Sam turned back to give his master another worried expression, and then crossed the room to stand beside the bed as Frodo struggled for words. "Mr. Frodo, sir..." Sam mumbled softly. He hated to see his master in such silent anguish. It was, in a way, nearly as bad as watching the poison of the Ringwraith blade ravish his body - except that the ring worked in much slower and subtle ways. "I'm not going to lose you," he mumbled again, sitting down on the bed and taking Frodo's hand in his again.   
"Of course not, Sam..." Frodo replied softly, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.   
"When you...got so sick on us," Sam started, an earnest expression on his round face, "I swore to myself that I wouldn't let any more harm come to you." Sam remembered all too well the fear that had been in his Master's eyes as he had cried out in pain from that wound, writhing in Sam's arms, his eyes slowly glazing over as he was nearly lost to the shadow realm forever.   
"We are walking straight into harm," Frodo replied, laying back on his pillows and staring up at the ceiling. "I wonder, Sam...are we walking straight to our doom? Are we ready for death?"   
"Oh, don't say such things, Mr. Frodo!" Sam exclaimed, and there was silence again for a moment. Sam sighed, reaching across his Master, whose eyes were still closed, to pull the chain of the glass-covered lamp. It was only as the rosy light winked out that Frodo let forth the soft sob he'd been holding back.   
"It is the fate of the world, Sam, and I do not know if I can bear it, even with the bow of Legolas, the swords of Aragorn and Boromir, the ax of Gimli...even the might and wisdom of Gandalf."   
Sam said nothing, only reached for Frodo in the darkness, wrapping his arms around the other's more slender frame. He pulled the weeping hobbit close, whispering soothing noises as he would to a child wakened from a nightmare, his hands clumsily rubbing his master's back as he gently kissed his brow. "It's fine, Frodo..." he said softly, dropping his constant formality in expression of comfort. "You go ahead and cry if you need to, Sam is right here, and not going anywhere."   
"I do not know the way...I do not know how it shall all end..." Frodo wound his own arms around Sam's neck, weeping softly into his shirt - weeping for so many things that he would never be able to put into words. He wept for the lives already lost, and those not yet but surely to be...he wept for the mistrust of elves and dwarves, for the separation of loves and families, for the damage to the trees and rivers and mountains. He wept with fear for his home, for his friends, and for himself. He cried himself until he could cry no more, until there was nothing left but acceptance of his mission, and hope for the survival of all he held dear. All this time, Samwise held him close, continuing to whisper soothingly to him until at last he was calmed.   
In the moonlight streaming silvered through the wide open arches, Sam could see the bright sky blue of Frodo's eyes as he turned his flushed face up towards his friend. "You think you are alone, Frodo," he said softly, "But see now, I have not left your side. You do not know the way, it's true, but we will find it, you and I, all of us together. We will find it, and then we will go home. I will cook us a nice big supper, and we will have a smoke on the hill under the stars."   
"Thank you, Sam," Frodo murmured, drawing himself closer still. He reached one hand to finger a dirty blond curl, and then suddenly leaned forward and pressed his lips very softly to the other's. Sam was pleasantly surprised for but a moment, but having no desire to deny Frodo, returned the kiss with the same gentleness, capturing his master's bottom lip and hugging Frodo tightly to him. Frodo's lips parted as his breath caught in his throat, their tongues dancing briefly over each other's lips.   
"Will you stay here with me?" Frodo questioned softly as they broke apart, his breath tickling Sam's lips. "I do not want to be alone."   
"Of course, Mr. Frodo," Sam replied, reaching to pull the soft blanket over their forms as Frodo lay his head against Sam's chest. "I will be here when you fall asleep, and I will be here still when you wake."   
Frodo sighed softly, his eyes drifting closed in exhaustion, sleep beginning to overtake him. "I was wrong, Sam...there is one thing I have that is special, to help me on this journey."   
"And what is that, Mr. Frodo?"   
"You." 


End file.
